


bruises from someone else's hands

by fixedstars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn-masquerade, Feelings, Injury, M/M, Prompt Fill, sex as a form of first-aid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:39:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixedstars/pseuds/fixedstars
Summary: Dean’s been in a fight again.





	bruises from someone else's hands

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: _Highschool-aged Sam’s, like, totally turned on when Dean’s got a black eye or a split lip or bruised knuckles. He, of course, is gonna scold Dean for getting into a fight again, and throw an ice pack his way. But he’s also gonna climb into Dean’s lap to ride the hell out of him right after._
> 
> Written for SPN Masquerade Round 5

Dean’s been in a fight again. Sam knows from the way he stumbles through the motel door, from the delay between his two shoes hitting the floor — Dean’s injured. Sam peers over the top of his chemistry book and sure enough, there’s blood on Dean’s lips, a bruise on his cheek the shape of someone’s fist he’s tried to hide behind a flipped-up collar. Dean’s been in a fight every few days since they came to this place, no matter how many times Sam scolds him. Sam’s not sure who Dean’s actually fighting — the kids at school or dad for ditching them in another mid-western town.   
  
“Dean…” he says, not a little reproachfully, pushing up from the bed, and waits for the expected reply.   
  
“Shut up.”  
  
There it is. Sam sighs and watches through the spotted mirror as Dean washes blood out of his teeth. He marks his place in the textbook with a diner receipt and takes the ice bucket outside to the machine near the motel office.   
  
Dean’s sitting on the edge of the second bed in a t-shirt when Sam comes back. He’s holding a washcloth to his face. Sam draws the curtains and snatches it from him. He fashions an ice pack and hands it back, folding his arms over his chest and looking down on Dean from a few feet away. Their room smells faintly of cigarettes.  
  
“I thought you said you’d stop fighting.”  
  
Dean gives him a waspish look. The black eye from last week has turned an ugly yellow-green, a shade lighter than the room’s carpet. “Couple guys cornered me after school. What the hell you’d expect me to do?”  
  
“Walk away.”  
  
“Fuckin’ boyscout,” Dean mutters.   
  
“What did you call me?”  
  
Dean adjusts the ice pack on his face and looks down. After a minute he asks, “What d’you want for dinner?”  
  
He sounds contrite. Sam takes a step closer, then another, until he’s got one foot between Dean’s and nudges the inside of his thigh with a knee.   
  
“Sam.”   
  
It’s a warning. He’s given them before. Sam ignores it like the others and climbs onto Dean’s lap.   
  
“Sammy…”   
  
Dean turns his face away, but Sam kisses the remnant of a black eye, Dean’s cheek where it’s hot, where someone else has touched him.   
  
“I’ll make you feel better.”  
  
“I told you last time, we shouldn’t...dad could...”  
  
“Dad’s not here.”  
  
Dean never resists when Sam kisses him, and he doesn’t resist now. He holds still, but Sam knows from the hitch in his breath, from the way Dean shivers, that he’ll do what Sam wants.   
  
“This is so fucked up,” Dean whispers.   
  
“Don’t you want to?”

Dean’s lips taste faintly of blood. Sam sucks on the place where they’re swollen, proud when Dean moans a little, when his free hand dances over the place where Sam’s shirt has ridden up.   
  
“You should find a nice girl,” he says even as his fingers climb Sam’s spine.  
  
“Shut up.”   
  
Sam takes the ice pack from Dean’s hand and throws it onto his bed. He presses his lips to Dean’s cold skin and grinds down on him and Dean stops talking.  
  
Sam’s lost track of how many times they’ve done this, how many times he’s stripped off his shirt and pants and pushed Dean onto his back, how many times Dean has lain shaking under him. Dean looks queasy as Sam unzips his fly but he takes slow, calculated breaths as Sam pulls off his jeans, as he fishes in his backpack for a condom.  
  
“Where…” Dean gulps for air. He’s got bruises on his chest and neck and Sam crawls on top of him. “Where do you get this stuff?”  
  
“Drug store.”  
  
He watches, wide-eyed, hands locked in the cheap sheets as Sam pushes down onto his own slicked fingers. Sam takes one of Dean’s hands and positions it on his thigh, and Dean gently, gently caresses his skin.   
  
After a while, his lip starts to bleed again and he whimpers when Sam bends to kiss him.   
  
“Can I?” Sam says and Dean nods.   
  
It’s never stopped hurting, that first thrust down. It burns like nothing else and Sam throws his head back laughing. He’ll feel this all day tomorrow.   
  
“Is it good?” he asks.  
  
Dean doesn’t answer. He touches Sam with the same hand he’ll slice on someone’s teeth two days from now. The sounds their bodies make are obscene and  _theirs_. Sam moves himself up and down until his thighs lock and Dean flips them over. Sam comes on a sigh, Dean saying his name. 

* * *

“Don’t fight anymore,” Sam yawns. The sun’s going down, pink around the edges of the curtains.  
  
Dean bites his neck just hard enough that Sam shivers. “I won’t,” he says and Sam knows it a lie, that Dean will come home tomorrow with bloody lips, bloody fists that Sam will kiss better, but he squeezes Dean’s ribs and says “Okay” and closes his eyes. 

* * *

Dean takes him for burgers. They sit in a booth and Dean keeps his bruised cheek toward the wall while Sam happily sucks down two milkshakes. They don’t talk. And when they return to that room, to separate beds, his feet brush the damp spot where the ice has melted.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to get in touch, try [this twitter](https://twitter.com/_fixedstars_)


End file.
